


Subway Cars and Tea Shops

by sscribbless



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, THIS IS A GENDERBEND FIC, monday mornings, subway shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 04:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sscribbless/pseuds/sscribbless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New York is a very, very big city. Still, occasionally the stars will decide to align in just the right way and you'll run into the same person a couple of times. Or sometimes the stars will decide to just ignore all logic and probability and have you run into one particular person out of the over eight million other choices every god damn morning on your train ride to school. And sometimes that person is an extravagant, made-up eyesore that draws the attention of every other person in the car.</p><p>(genderbent erikar written as a gift)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subway Cars and Tea Shops

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kira892](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kira892/gifts).



> Happy birthday, honey smacks. I hope you enjoy uvu

You wake up to the merciless ringing of your alarm, scaring the shit out of you to ensure you're awake and won't be sleeping again anytime soon. You nearly knock it from your bedside table in your haste to shut it up. You think you might be coming to terms with the fact that you will never get used to the new alarm Kanaya got you after you'd skipped one too many breakfasts in order to get out of the door on time. Sometimes his aggressive mothering can be a real pain in the ass, but you guess some small part of you is grateful that, thanks to your new "for deep sleepers" alarm, you're not late as often.

Once your demonic clock has been silenced, you perch on the edge of your bed, feet not touching the floor yet, and rub you the sleep from your eyes. You had been dreaming about already being on the way to your first class. You suppose that says something about how monotonous things have become for you, but you're mostly just upset that you now have to get dressed for the second time today. You stand up and stretch, wincing as something in your back cracks audibly. Fuck, you suddenly really need to pee.

While you're in the bathroom you remember that you were too tired for a shower last night, fuck. That means that you have to take one now, and that takes a good fifteen minutes off of the time you have before you need to be out of your apartment and walking towards the train. You pull the overlarge t-shirt you'd worn to bed off and turn the shower on, more than a little exasperated with your past-self.

You have to admit that the hot water is welcome. You're always freezing when you first wake up, because your landlord is an asshole and he turns the heat way down in the early morning hours. You've complained, but he just gives you some Earth Day-worthy bullshit that you might accept as a decent excuse if you thought he believed even a little bit of the shit spewing from his mouth.

You wrap yourself in a towel after stepping out of the shower and head back to your room to get dressed. You realize Laundry Day looms ever closer, for your hamper is starting to overflow and all but one pair of your jeans are dirty. The remaining pair has a broken zipper that doesn't close right, but whatever, it's all you have, so you'll make do. You don't pay attention to the t-shirt or hoodie you pull on, because you're still hung up on your pants's permanently-fucked fly. Your hair proves to be as difficult as ever when you attempt to drag a brush through it. You don't even have that much of it. You'd chopped it off specifically so it would be less of a hassle, but it had remained as impossible-to-tame as ever. You should probably just give up forever and let it be the illogical, wavy mess it wants to be.

Kanaya's alarm goes off (it's a hell of a lot gentler on the aural cavities than your own), letting you know that you have about five minutes to get out or else you'll have to run to the subway. You fetch your coat and struggle into it on the way to the kitchen. You pick an apple up from Kanaya's neat little pile and drop it into your bag before you sling it over one shoulder and grab your keys from the table. You give the coffeemaker a brief glance filled with longing and regrets. Once again, fuck your past self for making you miss your morning dose of caffeine. You do a quick phone-keys-wallet check, heading towards the door. Kanaya wanders from his room just as you're leaving the apartment.

"Have a nice day, Karkat!" he calls as the door clicks shut and automatically locks behind you. After glancing at your phone, it turns out you can walk at a relatively normal pace after all, thank whatever deity has decided to spare you today.

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you hate Monday mornings so fucking much. Actually, no. You can do better than that. Fuck Monday morning in their most delicate orifice with the oldest, rustiest piece of farm equipment available. That expresses your feelings a little more accurately

When you get to the station just a few blocks from your apartment building, you have to run down the stairs, because you hear your train pulling up. You almost miss it, but someone sees you and sticks his foot in the door for you. He gets a quick, muttered thanks for his kindness as you slide by and sit down.

Luckily, there are more seats available today than you're accustomed to. As the train starts moving, you reach into your bag and wonder how the fuck your book managed to crawl beneath all the other contents. Nepeta had recently supplied you with a new novel he thought you might like. Your friendship was more or less forged with romcoms and a mutual interest in trashy literature, so you chose to trust his judgment. You started this particular book last night and so far, so good.

For the next twenty minutes or so, you tune out reality in favor of surrendering your thoughts to the love triangle rapidly evolving between the protagonist, her best friend, and her best friend's boyfriend. It's a classic predicament that's been written again and again, but that doesn't stop you from enjoying it. Once you reach the end of the third chapter, you close the book and return it to your bag, where you're sure it will immediately begin burrowing toward its usual place at the very bottom.

You look around the subway car with practiced disinterest. That is, until your eyes come to rest upon one particular person that you hadn't even realize was on the train yet.

You live in a very, very big city. Still, occasionally the stars will decide to align in just the right way and you'll run into the same person a couple of times. Or sometimes the stars will decide to just ignore all logic and probability and have you run into one particular person out of the over eight million other choices every god damn morning on your train ride to school. And sometimes that person is an extravagant, made-up eyesore that draws the attention of every other person in the car. She supplies you with your entertainment on the morning ride to the city.

You used to attempt to continue doing whatever you were before she boarded the train, but she's just so god damn distracting. At this point, you just unabashedly stare. You tried to describe her to Kanaya once, but all you managed to articulate was "pirate librarian," which falls tragically short of the reality. Everything about her absolutely begs for attention.

Her hair is a reddish-brown color that she probably calls ginger, even though it's barely on the spectrum, and she has her bangs dyed a particularly obnoxious shade of violet. She wears really thick-framed glasses that aren't quite hipster frames, but are still pretty close. Today, she's wearing purple (wow, someone's advertising their color preference) skinny jeans and a long black coat with at least a dozen too many buttons. It looks more like something George Washington would wear than anything a twenty-something year old (she's got to be in college, you don't even want to think about any alternatives) living in modern times should ever be seen in. Still, it could be worse. At least she's not wearing the cape.

The most infuriating thing about her is that her entire carefully arranged (she probably takes hours to get ready each morning) appearance—as gaudy as it is—somehow manages to work for her. It works very well, actually. You're loathe to admit it, but it's probably no help to your chronic staring that she's more than just flashy, she's pretty. Every fucking morning, you wake up, drag your ass out of bed, somehow manage to dress yourself, then, when you get on the subway, you're faced with this gloriously put-together individual that apparently isn't still mostly asleep, despite the fact that it's still practically the ass-crack of dawn. Really, who the fuck has any right to actually resemble a functioning adult this early? Nobody does. Yet, this offensively attractive female that you see each day exists, and she is certainly an exception to this rule.

You may have begrudgingly admired her butt once or twice.

Maybe.

Thanks to the fact that you are a spacey idiot, you belatedly realize that the train is at your station and then have to wrestle with the doors to get out. Shit, all of this angry observation is going to make you miss your stop if you aren't careful.

The couple of long-ass blocks between the subway and your destination pass by pretty quickly, which is a blessing, but the moment your ass is in a chair in a lecture hall and you have your laptop set up in front of you, you find your traitorous eyelids drifting closed. It's not that you don't find classic lit interesting; you just can't bring yourself to concentrate on anything this early.

By your third class of the day you're awake, but pretty irritated considering you've just been assigned two separate papers and they're each going to be real pains in your ass. You're also really fucking hungry and the minutes before this class is over are not ticking away nearly as fast as you wish they were.

You practically cheer when your professor finally stops talking and tucks the lesson plan into her binder, ending the class.

There's a nice little tea shop down the street that sells great sandwiches and decent coffee. It's not as pricey as a lot of the other cafés in the area, so you decide to head there for lunch.

After ordering, you sit down and pull your book out of your bag. Several pages later, you still don't have your food and you're starting to get testy. You look around the shop. There aren't many people here, so there shouldn't be a long wait. The girl working at the counter looks around your age. Her dark hair is pulled back in a pony tail and she looks responsible enough to manage an order as simple as a cup of coffee and a sandwich. You sigh and get up to inquire about your absent lunch.

"I had to brew a new pot of coffee. I'm sorry it's taking so long, but it's nearly ready." You're irritated, but she's wearing a V for Vendetta ( which is one of your favorite films) t-shirt and something about her reminds you a little of Kanaya, so you just sit down to wait again with minimal bitching.

Once you've received and eaten your lunch, you're still irritable, but a little less so. You still have a good quarter of an hour until your next (and thankfully last) class, so you take your time with your coffee. In your novel, the protagonist has just discovered that her feelings towards the love interest are requited (you, of course, being an expert in the field of romance, have known from the start). You sense some impending drama as the Other Woman arrives. Sparks are just about to fly when—

"Sorry to be botherin' you, but is there anyone currently occupyin' this chair?" You take a deep breath, trying really hard to compose yourself so you can be a decent person and not inflict your sour mood upon whatever poor soul has decided they want the chair opposite you badly enough to interrupt your reading.

You look up and…holy shit. All thoughts of your book are abandoned as your eyes dart from a pair of thick-framed glasses to a fringe of purple bangs to a dumb-ass George Washington coat. "Uh—" is all you manage to articulate before your personal subway entertainment system cuts you off.

"Hold on. You look real familiar," her brow furrows and she purses her lips in picturesque thoughtfulness as she attempts to match your appearance with an identity. A moment later, you practically wince as recognition brightens her eyes. Oh please, God, no. "Got it! You're the one I see every day on the train!" She has a really strange accent that you're sure you've heard before, but you can't quite place. It sounds a little southern, a little English, and a lot pretentious.

You sort of choke out a little affirmative sound.

"You are! You know, I've actually considered talkin' to you before. I guess the fact that we see each other every day an' us meetin' at this homey little cafe place could be some sort a serendipity, couldn't it? If that was even possible which, a course, it's not even remotely." After a moment of what seems to be thoughtful silence, a long-fingered hand is offered to you, "I'm Eridan."

You finally find your voice. "Why exactly are you talking to me?" Wow, that sounded a lot nastier than you meant it to. Oops.

Eridan raises an eyebrow and withdraws her hand quietly. "Sorry, I just assumed that anyone expendin' as much effort as you seem to on a complete stranger might actually want to get to know them before continuin' to glare at 'em from across a subway car for the rest a their days."

You blush. You weren't exactly being subtle when you watched her on the subway, but you hadn't really considered that she might actually notice you. Even if you had, you've always been confident that you'd never meet Princess Purple—you mean Eridan—outside of a subway car.

"Right. Sorry about that, I guess," you say. Eridan takes your muttered apology as some sort of signal to sit down in the chair she had previously intended on taking. She looks at you expectantly and you find yourself feeling just like a child whose parents just caught them disobeying and now expect them to own up to their misdeed.

After another moment of uncomfortable silence, Eridan clears her throat. "I'm Eridan," she repeats, like you didn't fucking hear her the first time, "what's your name, Crabby?"

Did she seriously just call you fucking 'Crabby?' How the fuck is this chick even real?

"It's Karkat. And if you don't want me to pour this hot coffee into your lap and leave right now, I suggest you refrain from calling me that again." You neglect to mention that calling the coffee you brandish at her anything greater than 'lukewarm' would be giving the to-go cup it's in far too much credit.

Eridan just laughs like you were joking, which you certainly weren't. Her laugh is sort of wheezey and you wonder briefly if she smokes.

"I'll keep that in mind, then." She pulls her phone out (it's a Blackberry and the case is purple, go fucking figure) and glances at the screen. She stands up immediately in response to whatever she sees, probably the time. "Well, Kar, I've got to be meetin' with someone now. It's certainly been a pleasure."

She waves a hand in your general direction as she turns around and leaves the café. Out of habit, you raise a hand and half-heartedly wiggle a couple digits at her. You intend on returning to your book and pretending as hard as you can that this encounter never happened, but you become preoccupied with watching Eridan as she walks down the block. You stare through the storefront window. She carries herself like she owns the entire fucking city. You can't tell if it's charming or just irritating. Shit, you feel more confident just watching her. Yeah, it's definitely her confidence you're staring at and not just her positively captivating posterior.

You remain at the tea shop for a while longer and then head to your last class. Thankfully, one of your teachers has decided to spare you from the nasty experience that is juggling multiple papers and you get off with nothing more than a reading assignment.

You head home and retreat to your room almost immediately. You've got two chapters of American history to get through before

-

You wake up the next morning to your satanic alarm as usual. You get dressed and make a pot of coffee, as usual. You hear Kanaya's alarm go off and run around the house like a madwoman for the next five minutes, but you make it out of the door in plenty of time to get on the right train and avoid being late. You don't get a seat today, but that doesn't stop you from pulling your book out and holding it in one hand so you can continue to read.

You couldn't put it down the night before, so you're nearly done with it. It seems Nepeta was right in recommending it, because you're enjoying it quite bit. You cried once last night reading it and you're going to have to thank him later.

You can't pretend that you like Tuesday morning any more than you like Monday mornings, but at least today hasn't been especially unpleasant. That is, it hadn't been especially unpleasant. You don't really notice when your peripheral vision is filled with an unnatural amount of purple, because you're just a little preoccupied with the trashy prose in front of you. You do notice, however, when someone clears their throat very conspicuously right beside your ear.

You start and look up, assuming it's someone that wants you to move out of their way so they can get off the train or something like that. Instead, you end up making eye contact with someone you had completely forgotten about meeting yesterday (you probably blocked it out).

"Hey, Kar. Fancy seein' you again," Eridan says, all smiles. You cringe. She's wearing the cape over a weird sea horse sweater and jeans. It's like what she put on that morning was too fucking normal as it was and she just had to add that final touch. Aren't yellow and purple supposed to clash, what the fuck is she doing?

"Mm. Weird, isn't it?" you mutter, trying to avoid looking at her directly. You return to your book, hoping against hope that she'll take a hint and stop talking to you.

"Very. What are you readin'?" she reaches out, about to do that nosy asshole thing and flip your book over so she can see the cover.

You close it and hold it at your side, so she can't see. She raises an eyebrow, making a face you've seen her make before. "I'm sorry, Eridan, but I don't really feel like chatting right now. If you knew me better, which you don't, because we've talked literally one time and you were the one doing most of the talking, you'd know that I'm not a very nice person before around ten o'clock. Especially when dealing with strangers such as yourself."

"Near-strangers," Eridan corrects.

You roll your eyes in response.

"An' I know a way we can stop bein' near strangers. You just need to put this number," she hands you a slip of paper, "into your contacts list. Then you need to text me."

You stare. "Are you serious?"

"If you don't, I'll see you tomorrow, too! An' the day after that, an' then— Oh, Kar, this is your stop, I believe."

Fuck. "My name is Karkat. Get it right."

Once you're off the train, you look at the piece of paper in you hand. You didn't realize that handwriting could look this ridiculous. It's bunched up and slanted and the 4s in her phone number looks like Qs. How is that even possible? Then again, you were just hit on by a girl literally wearing a violet cape. You bet it billows as she walks, too.

You seriously consider throwing Eridan's number out, but you stop yourself. What the fuck, you think, as you tap her number into your phone.

You really hope you don't end up regretting this.

**Author's Note:**

> Ao3 is being dumb, but this is not the last chapter!!


End file.
